


Just a Girl

by KCByrne (FeatherChangeTheWeather)



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, Memories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-07
Updated: 2013-02-07
Packaged: 2017-11-28 11:58:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/674142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeatherChangeTheWeather/pseuds/KCByrne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a piece I wrote for my Intro to Fiction class. It's a short story about a girl in her room.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just a Girl

The room seemed simple to the girl. She looked around, noticing every detail. The plain, metal-framed bed with sheets as blue as a robin’s egg, covered with a wrinkled black quilt, a dresser with a mirror propped against the wall resting on it. The mirror looked like it was the most expensive thing in the room, with swirls and lines forming patterns along the edges that looked like labyrinths.  
  
The area on the desk was cluttered, with black hair-ties and colored ribbons mingling with make-up and a hairbrush which had strawberry blonde strands of hair woven through the bristles. Other such items were randomly strewn across the surface of the dressers, and her eyes skimmed over all of them.  
  
The walls of the room were painted dark blue; it reminded her of a starless night. She couldn't see much of the walls though; posters covered the walls, depicting celebrities, bands, movies.  
  
The floor was pine, and smelled of pine-sol. There was no dust, or crumbs of food, on the floor. Parts of the floor were covered with bookshelves. On those shelves, were not the books her friends expected her to read; Tolstoy, Austen, London, and Hawthorne graced the shelves, definitely not the teen romance novels her friends read. The books spines were all cracked from her reading them multiple times. The tops of the shelves had multiple blown glass figures line on top. Here, a rearing horse; there, hummingbird.  
  
Hidden under her bed, a shoe box rested near the wall. She bent, and pulled it out from its hiding place. Sighing, she sat on the bed. She blew dust off the lid of the box, then watched the particles fly spastically, illuminated by the light filtering through plain white blinds. Inside the box, a small pile of pictures were on top. The girl smiled in some of them, she was with her friends at the bowling alley, or the skating rink. In one though, it was just her. She was sitting in a brown leather chair, her feet hanging over one of the arm rests. Her hair was pushed over shoulder. In her hands, resting on her thighs was a book. She couldn't remember which book it was, but it didn't matter. The picture had been taken without her knowledge; even so, there was a smile gracing her lips.  
  
The box also contained a college flyer for Oxford, and her acceptance letter into the university. The lines “We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted into the University of Oxford” highlighted in fluorescent yellow. A smile appeared on her face again, the anticipation sending butterflies into her stomach. She lifted these out of box and sat them, along with the photographs, next to her on the bed.  
  
What was placed beneath them made the smile slide off of her face. A single razor-blade sat, in a simple Ziploc bag. She could remember the feel of dragging it over skin; she could almost see the dark red of blood on her pale skin. She hadn't laid eyes on the razor-blade for months. She had begun to wonder whether or not the blade was helping her or not, and had decided to put it away. Unwilling, past thoughts flew through her brain.  
  
Years of torture and bullying in elementary school. Girls whispering behind her back in middle school. Boys teasing her and, when they weren't teasing, ignoring her in high school. Moments shot through her brain at the sight the blade, and her hand shook as she picked up the clear plastic bag. She stood up, setting the empty shoe box on the bed, and slowly walked towards a small, wire trash bag net to the door.  
  
Standing over it, she let the bag slip out of her fingers, and into the basket. It made a quiet clink as it hit the bottom. With the noise, she promised to never scar her skin again. She had enough blemishes because of others; she wouldn't let anyone lower her to that point again.


End file.
